


la pared

by piledriverwaaaltz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1960s, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Vomiting, lowercase intended, sad boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piledriverwaaaltz/pseuds/piledriverwaaaltz
Summary: i'm going to build a wall between your life and mineso i don't see you again, at least not every daybut if you want to come, i will also build a doorand in case i want to die, i will build an open windowpaul and john looking at each other through walls, doors and windows.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. john's wall

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very short thingy i thought about while i was on a bus and i was listening to this song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWNfFxQjkJc&ab_channel=CupidoVEVO (the verses on the description are basically the opening of the song and it's in spanish so yeah) and it kinda reminded me of mclennon. also english is not my first language :) hope you enjoy!

**i'm going to build a wall between your life and mine**

john had built his wall when he was very young. it was always dark in his mind, full of words never spoken, regrets and anger. things he didn’t want to show to the people around him, but escaped his mind anyway.

it was already built when he met paul, but the dark haired boy always knew how to see through walls.

there were days, paul thought, when he could read john like an open book, even when no one else around them seemed to know what was up with the boy in the glasses.

they were in India. things were not going well por paul, he was bored and his relationship with jane wasn’t the best.

john on the other hand was enjoying it, always whispering with george and actively participating in everything. that was the world outside his wall anyway.

one night, john was wandering around the ashram when he saw paul sitting in the grass, smoking a cigarette with eyes closed.

“hey” john whispered, sitting besides his best, closest friend. paul smelled like alcohol and john wrinkled his nose “we aren’t supposed to drink here, you know”

when paul opened his eyes to look at him, it was as if he was looking into his very brain. john felt naked, exposed. he hand’t kissed paul in months.

“fuck off” was what came out of paul’s mouth “i know you want a drink too. and i only had two glasses” taking a long drag of his cigarette, paul squinted his eyes towards john. it was the middle of the night and ringo had left the previous week. “what’s up with you?”

there he was again, his paul, looking at him like he was an open book, like he had a bright neon sign sticking out of his head.

“cynthia and i aren’t sleeping in the same room” john whispered “i’m just tired of playing at marriage, i’ve been doing it since forever. i think i’m going to ask for a divorce” paul mumbled something that john didn’t pick up, and he didn’t ask.

“have you met someone?” paul asked after a few minutes “i see you walking down to the post office everyday” he put he cigarette down in the grass.

“no” john quickly responded, suddendly defensive “yes. but it’s not… things haven’t been good between us for a long time” paul hummed, agreeing.

“i’m going to bed” and with that the dark haired man got up, cleaning his hands in his trousers.

but paul didn’t move, towering over john, looking at him with pleading eyes. john was stratled.

“what happened to us?” even paul was surprised when he heard himself ask.

“we’re growing up, son” _brian’s dead. we can’t touch each other in public. i'm in love with you._

“ah, that must be it” paul started walking, and john got up to follow him.

“paul” _please stay. I miss you. why can’t we start over. I love you._

paul felt like a mind-reader, looking at john, his john, so close to him in more than one way. in that moment, he could see through john’s wall like it was made of crystal.

paul couldn’t help himself and kissed him, running his hands through john’s hair, his tongue finding its way into john’s mouth with hunger. they hadn’t kissed since the previous summer and paul couldn’t bear it anymore. 

when john pulled away, the intensity in paul’s eyes was almost uncomfortable. they started walking back to the cabins in silence, their fingers brushing against each other. paul lit up another cigarette and they shared it, looking at the sky. they didn’t speak.

“i’m going to bed now” John whispered eventually.

paul felt like he was in front of a different john than the one he had been looking at just fifteen minutes earlier.

“i know, johnny” was all that paul said. john went to his room, and paul stayed there, looking at the walls of the cabin. they were solid and opaque, and paul had never felt so lost and clueless. john’s walls were up, up, up.


	2. paul's door

**if you want to come, i will also build a door**

paul had also built a wall. after all, he was always happy, or at least seemed happy. he was paul the PR man. being sad was a waste of time anyway.

in a world where paul mccartney could see through john lennon’s wall, john had it easier to take a look past paul’s wall, because it had a door. maybe john was the only one who could open it, but that was something.

tonight paul was drunk out of his mind. john had been watching him across the pub, smiling to the girl sitting in his lap. making out with her, pressing her against the couch, sending a pang of jealousy through johns’s body.  
but five minutes later paul was running out of the pub, his head low and a hand pressed against his mouth. john had followed him, found paul throwing up between two dumpsters. his eyes were red and puffy, his lips swollen. both of them were high.  
when paul finished dry heaving, he sat in the pavement with a loud thud. his head was low.  
“paul?” john whispered.  
“mfine” he wasn't. “i miss her” paul mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else, but john heard it anyway and mentally cursed himself.

paul’s mum had died that same day, only several years before.

john picked paul up and brought him back to the hotel room. still drunk, he was almost like a dead weight against john’s body.  
when they arrived, john put paul to sleep and sat beside him, smoking a ciggie.  
ten minutes later they were kissing, paul’s lips pressed tightly against john’s, a tangle of arms and legs, their bodies pressed together and a warm hand finding its way to john’s crotch.  
thirty minutes later they were naked, and paul was crying again, mumbling incoherent words and then shouting “where the hell is my weed”, as he got up and frantically searched for a little wooden box, hidden somewhere in the room.  
eventually john got him to calm down and paul fell asleep in his arms, tears drying in his cheeks.  
john was used to opening paul’s doors. however, this particular one rarely opened, as if it was locked up with a hundred keys. john didn’t like opening this door of paul's.  
he hated it.  
he hated seeing how broken paul was, because he was broken like that, too.

he needed air. quickly dressing up, john left the room, closing the door behind him.


	3. window

**in case i want to die, i will build an open window**

john was trying his hardest to ignore paul.

as the let it be sessions went by, paul looked less and less like himself.

but john was not supposed to care or notice, because he had yoko. because he wasn’t looking at paul, that’s what he told himself at least. but his eyes were trained to look at paul, as if they were designed to see him and only him.

after he sang “the long and winding road”, paul had excused himself and walked out of the room, john’s eyes always following. his paul, with his long beard and those sad, sad eyes.

john wanted to go after him, he wanted to ask him.

but he wasnt supposed to care.

half an hour went by and paul came back, still smelling slightly like whiskey.

“are you okay, paul? are you in pain?” john said nothing.

the door between them was closed now. john could feel paul, still seeing him trough his wall, but it was like john had lost the key to paul’s door. maybe he had changed the lock. but they never bothered to look past each other's walls again after that day.

in 1970, john was listening to paul’s “junk”. _s_ _omething old and new, memories for you and me._

he wasn’t going to make new memories with paul. they weren’t friends anymore, and paul had destroyed his wall only to rebuild it stronger, without a door john could open.

looking though the plane's window with sad eyes, “man we was lonely” started playing. john was going to new york.

it was december 1980. paul had received a phone call. as he looked through the plane’s window in his way to new york, the only thing he heard was his wall, crumbling down forever.


End file.
